


Futile Devices

by orphan_account



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 15:01:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7512739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I do<br/>Love you<br/>I do<br/>Love you<br/>And when you play guitar<br/>I listen to the strings buzz<br/>The metal vibrates underneath your fingers</p><p>(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=So03KFCbc1E)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Futile Devices

Angela Ziegler was not having a good time. She certainly did not feel old; and yet, watching a crane slowly repair the favela below, as the music of a house party thumped away behind her, she found the youthful appeal well and truly lost on her.

The apartment was rented by Lúcio and his fellow DJ, Dragão. A short young man, with spiky black hair, shirts a few sizes too large and buttoned only to the midriff, and an energy to match only Lúcio himself. Mercy enjoyed his company, as she did all the others; whatever her reservations about the program, Overwatch had opened her life to a great many friends, and perhaps...

 

Dragão left in the late afternoon, urging the rest of them to make the most of the facilities after their duties for the day had been completed. The apartment was modest but looked over the city for miles around. Lúcio had sworn to the crowd he'd managed to land on the beach with his skates without touching the ground. All but Hana laughed at that; sitting on the counter away from the others, she gave him a knowing smile. She found that she liked the young Brazilian very much; in that she was not alone. From the alpine nations to the base at Ayers Rock, Lúcio brought warmth and companionship wherever he went, especially here.

 

The sound system the two had installed was immense, the beds similar, and the minibar, to Reinhardt's delight, was fully stocked. It all helped to create an environment that may have excited her some years ago, though the years of experience had left her weary of such gatherings. Reinhardt had already elected to retire; but not before he was plied with enough drinks to put her out of commission five times over, yelling profusely - and unintelligibly - about the Knight Rider remake. She would not be getting out the same way.

 

For what it was worth, Lúcio himself seemed to have little to do with the current selection; she liked what he made a little better. Hana had helped her add some of his music to the radio in her medical bay, and she liked to play it as much as she could to lift spirits - just not while she was applying stitches, in case she moved the needle too much with the rhythm and hurt more than she healed.

 

The erratic bass made her chest vibrate heavily, but she felt another in her back pocket that was a little different. A text message from someone who insisted on not having his picture taken for the contact page on her communicator, so got a landscape of prickly pear plants and arid desert instead; Jesse.

 

_n loby. Found som strings. I''ll buy?_

 

She stared at the screen, having to focus above the noise to figure out the intent of the message. He had never really learned how to type with the new arm. Intrigued, but above all happy to find an excuse to leave, Angela weaved through the crowd, pretended not to hear a few who shouted her name above the music, and stepped into the elevator.

 

She found him, as he'd tried to say, in the lobby of the building. The concierge must have been twice his age; still, he treated her graciously as he did anyone, leaning on the counter and listening intently and replying in broken Portuguese where he could. It was handy to have friends in so many corners of the world, since duty called upon them to talk to those they needed to save. Winston knew thirteen languages, Satya five, and Lena could speak French, German and Russian - though all in her curious accent. When they were on the ship, Jesse could often be found with his feet up on the command console while Athena flew, flicking through phrasebooks of whichever country they were headed to next, toothpick rolling casually around his mouth. Angela has watched it intently a few more times than she'd ever admit. How long had they known each other now?

 

As she approached, the concierge reached into the office behind her and returned with two enormous cups. Smiling broadly, she offered them to McCree and he offered his greatest thanks. Angela did the same.

 

"How did she know it was me?" She asked him as he led her out of the front and into the late evening heat.

 

"I just told her to look for the cute one with a high ponytail."

 

Angela touched the knot in her hair with one hand and drew the cup to her lips with the other, drinking until no one would be able to tell that she'd been flushed by the compliment. Hot chocolate, made with cinnamon and coffee. It only barely burned her tongue.

 

McCree pretended not to notice as he sat, pulling the "strings" - a beaten-up guitar hanging on the outside wall - from behind his chair. He swung his feet up onto the table between them.

 

"Really, _liebling_." Mercy glanced across the quiet street at the passers-by and the slow passing cars. "People can see."

 

Adjusting the strings, she watched as he tested the them one at a time. "I ain't hiding."

 

"That you never are," she couldn't help but smile.

 

They were quiet for a time. If she concentrated, she could still hear the party, several stories above, and the people with whom a silence would not be quite so... comfortable. Jesse had been there before everything. He was different now - one less arm, more facial hair to distance himself from the Blackwatch days, and a face further lined by the years of conflict. Angela told herself to treasure the quiet. 

 

She watched him strum the guitar in a high tune that sounded like it came from here - an imitation of something Gabriel might have taught him, long ago - as he gazed up at the moon. "Think we're getting old. Can't deal with the young'ns anymore. Not that I don't love the kid."

 

"I was thinking the same thing."

 

"They're the future, though. Him and Hana."

 

"I love the sweet girl, but I'm not sure she's ready for command just yet."

 

"No? Can't imagine yourself charging into battle with a headset and a keyboard?"

 

She laughed a little louder than she'd intended, putting down her cup to avoid spills. "That depends on whether or not Reinhardt and the rest of us are prepared to give it up. He's not getting any younger, but _so_ stubborn."

 

"After tonight, I'm not sure he can be in command of his own bladder."

 

More laughter, and out of the corner of her eye she saw the concierge looking over at them, fixated on Jesse. His laughter was the kind you could drink in, scratchy and guttural but soft and warm at the same time...

 

While she wasn't looking, Jesse had placed the guitar down against his chair. He took her hand slowly; such a brash figure in battle, but gentle when he wanted to be. When she looked back at him, the drinks forgotten, the concierge as well.

 

"Been thinking about it a lot, lately." He traced the lines of her knuckles with his thumb. She tried to sit still. "What's gonna happen after. Who's it's gonna be happening with."

 

"And?" She said quietly. "Any conclusions?"

 

His other hand was on her cheek, quicker than she could think. "Well, I-"

 

\- "Hey!"

 

Breaking apart immediately, they heard a familiar, cheery voice and turned to see Lúcio embracing the concierge on the way out - " _Bom ver você,_ Ella! _Boa noite!_ " - and bounding towards them, strangely out of his skates but still fast and youthful as any on their team. "I saw you head out, Angela. I'm sorry if I'm interrupting." He smiled at McCree, still seeming a little in awe of him. The stories preceded him. "Is everything okay?"

 

"Lúcio, you are sweet." Out of his view, she reached for Jesse's hand again under the table. Feeling his calloused grip beneath hers, she spoke honestly. "You needn't worry. I'll be just fine."

 

 


End file.
